


We're Not Burning Up (We're Just Moving On)

by sunshinexbomb



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Trade, Pre-Relationship, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/pseuds/sunshinexbomb
Summary: Edmonton gave him an opportunity he couldn’t get anywhere else - one that went beyond hockey, one to help people, to help an entire city. That’s what they were there for, all of them, him and Jordan and everyone that came after them. All of them had something special in them that the Oilers saw, and they were brought together to unify a city that sometimes seemed like it was falling apart.Taylor’s felt the weight of that entire city on his shoulders since he was eighteen, and now that the city’s abandoned him, he doesn’t know what to do when the burden’s still left behind.--Or in which Taylor doesn't know what to do when he's been traded to New Jersey and, suddenly, protecting Edmonton is no longer his responsibility.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hockeycaptains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeycaptains/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to the light of my life, [Nicole](http://archiveofourown.com/users/hockeycaptains)!!!! I know you don't need more reasons to be sad about Taylor Hall, but I gave you another one anyway. Hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Thank you to Julija and Kassie for beta'ing this and making sure it's not a mess. All other mistakes are my own.
> 
>  **Warnings** : There are some light descriptions of blood/violence in this, which is the only reason for the M rating. They're not very graphic, but I thought I'd mention this just in case.
> 
> I'm in no way associated with NHL and this is clearly fictional. Title is from Good Charlotte's "Moving On".

One of the first things Taylor does when he gets to New Jersey is clear out his phone. It's flooded with missed calls, texts, emails. He doesn't answer most of it, just deletes everything without a second thought. There's nothing he has to say, and there's nothing anyone else can say that will change anything. Not now. It's too late for that.

In the end there's only one unread message left and it's the only one Taylor can't get himself to delete. He can't get himself to open it either, not when it's from Jordan.

Taylor feels like he's been sitting for hours in his hotel room, just staring at the message. It's just sitting there, message preview reading _the city will miss you…_ before it's cut off. Taylor doesn't know if there's more. He's not sure if he wants to know.

Taylor can't open it, not yet. He locks his phone and he leaves it. The message will still be there tomorrow.

\--

Taylor's been in New Jersey a couple weeks when there's an emergency alert on his phone - a fire in Edmonton, electrical.

Taylor's on his feet immediately, heart beating fast, hands shaking at his side. He has to - he needs to - he can't.

There's nothing for him to do. This isn't his problem, not anymore.

Taylor closes his eyes, takes a few calming breaths. His heart is still jackrabbiting in chest - it'll take a few more minutes for that to calm down. This isn't his responsibility anymore.

For the rest of the day, Taylor focuses on the tasks he has on hand - unpacking boxes and arranging furniture in the new apartment that he has to call home. It's mindless work, but it keeps him occupied.

He doesn't look at his phone once, not until he's going to bed, and even then it's only to disable all alerts, delete the apps that used to control his life. He has no use for them anymore, not here. This isn’t Taylor’s city, but it is his home now.

Taylor barely sleeps, dreams plagued with scenes where he's trapped in burning buildings that he's not quick enough to escape.

\--

Taylor’s always been faster than the other boys on the ice, easily beating people to the puck when it was dumped in the corner, easily out-skating defensemen on a rush. His speed is one of the most important parts of his game.

But the thing is, Taylor’s always been fast off the ice also. It never really mattered much to him, not when all he cared about was hockey, about his next game, about winning the Mem Cup, about getting drafted, about going first.

Things changed when he got to Edmonton. Taylor changed.

There was a reason that the Oilers picked him, and yes, it was about his hockey, but it was about more than that also. The organization saw something in Taylor that he always knew was there, but that he never paid enough attention to. That speed of his, it was just as much of an asset off the ice as it was on the ice, and the Oilers, well, they could help Taylor reach his full potential in ways he never expected.

Edmonton gave him an opportunity he couldn’t get anywhere else - one that went beyond hockey, one to help people, to help an entire city. That’s what they were there for, all of them, him and Jordan and everyone that came after them. All of them had something something special in them that the Oilers saw, and they were brought together to unify a city that sometimes seemed like it was falling apart.

Taylor’s felt the weight of that entire city on his shoulders since he was eighteen, and now that the city’s abandoned him, he doesn’t know what to do when the burden’s still left behind.

\--

Jordan calls a lot those first few weeks. He leaves voicemails, more text messages.

Taylor never answers.

One day he’ll be ready, but that day isn’t anytime soon.

\--

The first day of training camp, Adam greets Taylor with a large smile and a larger hug. Taylor sinks into it because something about it still feels familiar to him, like remembering all the words to a favorite song you haven’t listened to in years.

“Are you ready for today?” Adam asks and Taylor shrugs.

He’s not, not really. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

They’re doing conditioning the whole day, no ice time yet, but it still feels weird slipping on the locker room tee with NEW JERSEY DEVILS bold across the front. The fabric makes his skin itch at first, even though it’s exactly the same as the hundreds of shirts he has sitting in the back of his closet at home.

The feeling disappears quickly as they get to work. Taylor pushes himself, sweats out his anxiety, smiles at new teammates, chirps Adam. It’s not the same, but some routines are easy to slip back into no matter where he is.

He controls his speed during drills, keeping in pace with the other boys because he has to in this new city. He pushes himself, but he could push himself harder, would have if he was in Edmonton where he wasn’t just training for a Cup but for something bigger.

Taylor’s still exhausted at the end of the day, sweat dripping down forehead, hair matted as he chugs half his water bottle down in one go.

Adam plops down on the bunch next to him. His face is red and blotchy, the back of his shirt dark and damp with sweat. The back of Taylor’s throat feels dry all over again.

“I’m not saying to take it easy,” Adam says, breathing heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly, “but remember that you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Taylor just stares, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s the first day of camp,” Adam adds with a shrug when it’s obvious that Taylor’s not going to respond. “Save some of that - anger, nerves, whatever - for the rest of the season too. It’s not up to just you anymore. This isn’t an organization you can save on your own, so just, take it a day at a time.”

Taylor swallows thickly and nods. He didn’t think he was pushing himself to any kind of limit, but maybe that’s not how it looked. Taylor knows his limits, but no one here knows just how far they extend.

“Yeah - yeah, you’re right,” he says finally, “but don’t worry, I won’t burn myself out just yet.”

Adam grins, a small thing that’s bright nonetheless. He claps Taylor on the shoulder before heading back to his stall.

Taylor’s never had to do things on his own, but it’s different knowing it and believing it.

\--

Jordan had told him the same thing once, when they were younger and things felt a bit brighter and a bit more hopeful.

Even then they had bad days - terrible losses and nights that left them bruised and battered with little payoff. They had nights where they couldn’t save everyone.

“You know that it’s not all up to you, right?” Jordan asks on one of those terrible nights that started with a turnover in the defensive zone and ended with a rescue and a fight that Taylor couldn’t keep up with.

Taylor hadn’t known what to say then, either. He just stares at Jordan, the grime covering his face, the cut on his cheek, the split in his lip that he keeps running his tongue over. His knuckles are bruised from a scuffle on the ice, but it’s the least of his injuries for the night.

Jordan grimaces as he shifts forward in his seat, clutching a bit helplessly at his ribs. Taylor’s almost certain that they’re bruised, that they’ll have to be looked at by their med team the next morning. Between the two of them, Jordan had taken the worst of it that night. While Taylor had his speed, it only did so much. Jordan had the strength to make the two of them a more complete team.

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Jordan continues, letting out a hiss of pain that has Taylor on his feet, “motherfucker -”

“You need to take it easy,” Taylor says, already heading to the kitchen. He hopes they have ice or _something_ , “I told you we should have gone straight back to Rexall.”

Jordan’s relatively silent as Taylor digs through the freezer. The ice tray is empty but there’s a bag of mixed veggies stuffed way in the back that’ll have to do. He wraps it in a paper towel and brings it back to Jordan who presses it gingerly to his side with another hiss.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as Taylor reclaims the seat across from him.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Taylor says after a few beats of silence, “do it on my own, I mean. It’s just that if I don’t do as much as I can, I feel like I haven’t done enough.”

“I know,” Jordan says softly, “I always feel like that too, Taylor, but tonight - people got hurt, man. We’re a team - on and off the ice - and we need to work like one so these things don’t happen.”

Guilt pools in Taylor’s stomach. Taylor did as much as he could, but he didn’t do things the way he should have, not during the game and not after. Taylor has two jobs: to win a Cup and to protect his city. Sometimes there are nights where he feels like he can’t do either right.

“We’ll do better, Ebs,” Taylor says, “next time. We’ll do better. I’ll do better.”

“We have to,” Jordan replies. “I just want you to remember that I’ve always got your back. No matter what, you can trust me.”

The words sit heavy in Taylor’s chest, but he still repeats them to himself over and over again. _It’s not just up to me, I’m not alone, Jordan has my back no matter what._

\--

Taylor wakes up early on one of their last off days before the season starts to a phone call from Adam.

“Why does Ryan Nugent-Hopkins have my phone number?” Adam asks in greeting.

Taylor’s still sluggish with sleep and very, very confused. “What?”

“He just called me like four times looking for you, which means he’s probably called you twice as many times already. Pick up your damn phone, Hallsy.”

Adam doesn’t actually sound mad, but he sounds, worried, maybe? Taylor’s not sure yet.

“Yeah, sorry Rico. I’m calling him right now.”

“I hope everything’s okay, Taylor,” Adam says a bit more softly before hanging up.

Taylor sits up in bed, sheets pooling in his lap, and sure enough he has nine missed calls from Ryan, that he must’ve slept through, which, shit. He calls back quickly, Ryan picking up almost at once.

“What the fuck?” Ryan says. Ryan never yells, but his voice turns cold enough that Taylor gets a chill down his spine.

“Nuge, I’m so sorry - is everything okay?”

“Not really,” Ryan scoffs. “I mean, no one’s hurt or dead or anything. A few scrapes and bruises - the usual. But you have to talk to Jordan, you dick.”

“What -?”

“None of our rescues are going right, Taylor,” Ryan says, voice low. “It feels like we’re on a team of rookies again, y’know, fumbling through them all. It’s not just Jordan, it’s me too, but you know what Jordan’s like. He has to talk to someone - has to talk to you.”

Taylor’s breath catches a little. “Ryan, that’s not my - it’s not my place anymore. Not my responsibility -”

“Fuck that,” Ryan says with even more ice than before. “This city might not be your responsibility anymore, Taylor, but Jordan’s still your friend. I’m not asking you to save lives, I’m asking you to talk to your best fucking friend when his head’s obviously a mess. When was the last time you talked? Taken any of his calls? This isn’t okay, Taylor.”

Taylor lets out a deep breath. Ryan’s right, Taylor knows he is.

“I’ll call him, Nuge. Today, promise. I’ll talk to him.”

“You better,” Ryan says, hanging up the phone and Taylor lets his phone drop to his side, cradling his head in his hands.

\--

Taylor doesn’t call. It makes him feel like shit but he - can’t.

Adam calls him, though, not that long after he gets off the phone with Ryan.

“Is everything okay in Edmonton?” he asks carefully. Taylor’s up out of bed by then, pattering around the kitchen, trying to find something to make for breakfast. He’s past the days where his cooking skills extend to KD but he still can’t do all that much.

Taylor digs out ingredients for a protein shake and answers vaguely, “Yeah, no, everything’s fine. Just some - stuff - with Jordan. I’ll take care of it.”

Adam hums lowly in response, and Taylor’s sure he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t push either. Instead, he asks, “Do you want to get lunch today?”

“Sure, who with?” Taylor asks. His protein shake is looking a bit chunky, even with the fancy blender his mom bought for him before moving out. Taylor grimaces as he pours it out into a glass. Lunch sounds amazing at the moment.

“I was thinking just the two of us, actually.”

Taylor pauses, stomach doing something funny that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with his breakfast. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Great,” Adam says, warmly. Taylor can imagine the smile on his face. “I’ll text you the address. Meet you around noon?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Taylor says with a smile of his own before he hangs up.

He dumps his failed shake down the drain and opts for a bowl of cereal instead.

\--

Taylor knows he’s going to be traded long before the deadline rolls around.

There’s a moment where everything goes to hell, where him and Jordan and Ryan, they can’t keep up with the fight. Taylor’s supposed to be the leader, but his best isn’t good enough. They end up backed into a corner, Taylor’s lungs filling with smoke, the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ear and a silent prayer that the bullet never makes impact with anyone.

They only make it out after a call for reinforcement, and while Taylor’s being dragged back to Rexall, Connor supporting the majority of his weight, Taylor knows.

He’s become a liability to this team.

He splutters out apologies the whole way back, gasped _I’m sorry_ ’ _s_ to Jordan, to Ryan, to Connor, to Leon who’s trying his best to tend to some of their injuries. He says it to anyone who will listen, but he knows it’s not enough.

“It wasn’t all on you, Taylor,” Jordan gasps out. There’s blood on his hands, blood staining his suit, and it’s just a reminder of what Taylor already knows.

He’s failed them, failed Edmonton. Failed himself.

Taylor doesn’t get sent out on anymore missions and in the summer, the city he’s given his last six years to is suddenly not his anymore.

Adam reaches out to him first, and Taylor’s not surprised. There are days when winning the Mem cup feels like it was a lifetime ago, like it happened to a whole different person. But then he hears Adam’s voice, the familiar cadence of it, and it feels like it was just the other day, the pride, the excitement, the feel of Adam’s arms around his neck as they celebrated, and the swoop in Taylor’s stomach at having Adam so close.

Edmonton would always be Taylor’s city, but even in those early days of summer where things felt like they were still falling apart, Taylor felt that maybe, with Adam there in New Jersey, it’d be easier to build himself a new home.

\--

Taylor’s late to lunch and Adam is still not there.

Taylor waits, ten minutes, then fifteen. Still, nothing.

He sighs in frustration, pulling his phone out from his pocket. He freezes, heart clenching tightly in his chest before starting to beat rapidly out of control.

There’s a message from Adam’s number, just a picture and an address. Adam’s passed out cold, head hanging, dark hair plastered against his forehead. He’s bound tight to a chair but not gagged and Taylor hasn’t felt his adrenaline pumping so fast or fear itching over his skin so furiously in months.

He never thought that these problems would follow him here to New Jersey. He thought he’d left them behind in Edmonton, thought he’d left that life behind.

Taylor should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

\--

Back deep in Taylor’s closet is a suit that Taylor never thought he’d wear again. It’s navy and white and skin tight and when he pushes himself to the farthest edges of his limits he knows the suit will accommodate him, his speed, his strength.

He’d considered giving it back, considered letting the Oilers hang on to it, but it was the last part of the organization he left behind that he couldn’t part with.

Unsurprisingly, the suit still fits like a glove and the communication device built into his wrist guards beep into life as soon as they’re strapped on. There’s no one waiting for him on the other side this time, but it has it’s uses, mainly the navigating system that Ryan had thrown together with soft, careful hands.

Taylor inputs the address from his messages, and after taking a large, shaky breath, he runs.

\--

The address belongs to a warehouse in the outskirts of Hoboken. Taylor enters, quiet and quick-footed, and he’s met with harsh industrial lighting and the sight of Adam still passed out with his head lolling on his shoulder.

Taylor curses quietly, getting to Adam’s side in a hurry. He’s pale, but his breathing is even and he seems unhurt. Taylor manages to breathe a little more easily himself.

There’s a small knife hidden in a sheath around Taylor’s ankle, and he reaches for it in an attempt to cut Adam free, when he hears footsteps behind him.

“So, this is where they’ve sent you, is it?”

The voice is familiar, Taylor knows it, still hears it in his head sometimes, and it makes his blood run cold. He turns around quickly, unsheathing the knife and holding it tight in his grip. It won’t do him much use, but it’s something when he doesn’t have Jordan’s strength as a shield.

“Let Henrique go. Whatever this is about, it has nothing to do with him,” Taylor answers, his voice surprisingly steady. He’s never been this scared in his life, never gone into something like this on his own, without someone having his back.

For once, Taylor really does have to do things alone.

He’s met with a smile that’s cruel and harsh, and sometimes Taylor still sees it in his dreams, dreams of flames and smoke in his lungs just like that last night that Taylor spent gasping for air before Connor came in for back-up.

Taylor’s unprepared and possibly outnumbered. He hates that he hasn’t grown out of that part of him that’s still rash and compulsive, but Jordan’s always said it may one day save his life. Taylor thinks this is the day he’ll put that theory to the test, and he gets ready to run.

\--

Somehow, they make it out alive. Taylor’s got a tear in his suit, and a cut across his cheek that will probably take ages to heal. He’s fucked up something in his knee for sure, and he hopes that that won’t come back to screw him over in the future.

But he has Adam and they’re safe and Taylor runs faster than he thought he could, away from danger, away from all the things he already thought he’d left behind. He’s barely a blur, dodging through the city with Adam in his arms until they can get back home.

Back in his apartment, Taylor lays Adam softly across the couch and tries to fix up the worst of his wounds. He’s never had the healing touch that Leon does, but he can hold his own until he talks to the Devils’ med team and tries to give some flimsy excuses to why he’s so banged up right before the start of the season.

Adam finally comes to as Taylor’s trying to stop the bleeding from his face, and Taylor’s startled when Adam sluggishly says, “We have people that can fix that for you.”

“You’re awake,” Taylor says, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Adam sits up, moaning and pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes when he does. “Everything’s all swimmy.”

“You’ve been out for hours,” Taylor says with a wince, before blurting out, “Adam, fuck, I’m so sorry -”

“It’s fine,” Adam says, which makes Taylor freeze, “fuck, my head is killing me.”

“It’s _fine_ , Adam, you were just kidnapped -”

“Not for the first time, probably not for the last,” Adam says with a shrug.

Taylor feels rooted to the floor, staring at Adam with wide eyes, blood still dripping down his face. “Adam, what the fuck?”

“You think Edmonton is the only place with people who can - y’know?” Adam waves his hands around vaguely. “You’re a prime target when you’re the guy on the team who can’t do shit.”

Suddenly, Taylor feels just as dizzy as Adam probably does. He plops down on the couch next to Adam and Adam leans into him, their shoulders and arms pressed warm together.

“I didn’t think I’d find something like this here,” Taylor says, honestly. “I thought it was something I’d given up when Edmonton gave up on me - I don’t - fuck -”

“It takes a while for us to integrate new people into the system,” Adam explains softly, “they probably wouldn’t have said anything to you until later into the season but with the whole kidnapping thing, that might change.”

Taylor’s quiet, his hands clenched into fists on his thigh. He’s changed out of his suit, back into shorts and a t-shirt with the Devils logo on it and an unfamiliar number nine on his chest. He doesn’t know what to say.

A bit hesitantly, Adam reaches out, his large hand covering over Taylor’s. Taylor relaxes a little and Adam says, “I don’t think Edmonton gave up on you. If they did, they wouldn’t have sent you somewhere you were needed, somewhere you could still have a team. Maybe it won’t be like the one you left behind, and maybe this place will never be your city, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have people here that won’t have your back.”

Taylor lets out a thick laugh, and something swells in his chest, making it fill like air expanding a balloon. He turns his palm, letting Adam curl their fingers together loosely, and he presses his nose to Adam’s shoulder for a second, taking a second to just breathe.

\--

**Epilogue**

As expected, the Devil’s med team isn’t pleased with Taylor when Adam takes him in to get stitched up and to get his knee looked at. They don’t seem too surprised, however, and Taylor’s still cleared for the first game, so he considers everything a victory.

The talk with the front office goes a bit less smoothly, but Taylor comes out of it with a new, custom-made suit in sleek black and silver so he supposes that’s a win also.

Adam leaves him with a warm, lingering hug, Taylor burying his nose in the crook of Adam’s neck.

“Thank you, by the way,” Adam says softly and Taylor answers with a soft laugh and final squeeze before he lets Adam go.

Taylor’s exhausted by the time he’s back in his apartment, eyelids heavy and muscles sore from overuse. The med team had given him something to help, but all it’s done so far is make him a bit drowsy and he still feels the pain of pushing himself faster than he has in a long, long time.

Before he lays down, though, he turns on his phone. He deletes the thread with Adam, wanting the picture and what started this out of his inbox, and then scrolls down farther until he finds Jordan’s name.

There’s a mix of messages and pictures, the dates between them getting farther and farther apart until they stop coming in all together. Taylor skips all of them to get to the oldest unread message.

_the city will miss you and i will too…but i think you can find someplace and someone that still needs you._

Taylor swallows thickly and before he can change his mind, he calls Jordan’s number.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> I'm always free to talk about Taylor Hall or how much I love Nicole on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/tjoshov) or [Tumblr](http://tjoshov.tumblr.com)!


End file.
